"S. A. Gorden - Eyes of an Eagle a Novel of Gravity Controlled" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gorden S A)

work at home they let me. I've been at the farm for eleven months and I'm not sure if my boss yet realizes
that ‘home’ is in a different state.

Before I moved back home, I completely re-wired the old farmhouse. But it still feels like home. All the
changes occurred within the walls. My brother's and my old bedrooms are converted into my workroom.
I have a small library on the shelves, one top of the line PC, one used PC linked permanently to the
Internet, a laptop, and three phone lines. Because of the high cost of living in town, my workroom still
costs the company less then my downtown Chicago office space.

The farm itself consists of 160 acres of land, half of which are wooded. The old barn had burned down in
an electrical storm ten years ago and had been replaced with a metal equipment shed. My father had
changed, during the last few years he had worked the farm, from dairy and beef cattle to planting seed
crops and hadn't been forced to replace the barn when it burned. The insurance money from the barn
had been a Godsend being that both my father and mother had started to have failing health. The old
brick milk house still stood, but most of the equipment inside had either been sold or rusted away. There
is a two-stall garage next to the house. One door is the size of an average car while the other is large
enough to accommodate a small truck. The house is a small cozy two story salt box with a full basement.
The north corner of the basement has our sauna. Firewood is brought down through a chute that opened
from the side of the house just above ground level.

As I stepped into the house from the cool fall air, I could smell the warm moist essence of home. With a
little bit of trying I could find the smell left from my mother's cooking, the hint of pipe tobacco from
before my father quit smoking, the spilled soap from the laundry in the basement, and the mustiness of the
household animals.

I entered the workroom. Lying on the warm computer chassis my cat, Move-over, slept. He was a
longhaired mottled gray, white, and black animal of about fifteen pounds. When he napped during the
day, he would drape himself over the Internet computer. His legs and tail would dangle in the air while his
head rested directly above the chassis’ fan. For some reason, the cat liked the hum of the fan. I jiggled
the computer mouse enough to get the screen to come out of sleep mode. As I waited for the screen to
come up with any email messages, the cat raised his hoary scared head and looked at me. Cats always
seem to know more than any animal should when they look at you. The aloof stare reminded me of a
scientist studying an experiment with me being the subject. After the eagle, the stare bothered me. I
scratched the cat's belly knowing he would go to sleep. A rumble came from the animal and his head
went down, but when I looked his lids were not closed. The slitted yellow eyes still watched.

In my inbox was an angry message from a scientist, a Nobel-laureate. He had submitted an article for
one of my company's magazines. The article was on the dynamics of ecosystems. He had tried to prove
that species die-out was caused because ecosystems are inherently unstable and degenerating. I had
recommended that the magazine not print the article. It was not up to his previous standards. The scientist
had not had anything printed for a while. I felt he had just thrown something together to get his name in
print again. I had sent the scientist my review pointing out a series of flaws in his statistical analysis and
referencing a number of sources using Chaos math that showed the system would have an inherited
complexity not degeneration. I finished with a note that if the concerns about the article were addressed I
would recommend it be printed.

It was a good thing for the scientist that the blistering letter was sent email. If it had been sent through the
regular mail, it would have been violated a number of laws. I copied it to my cranks file. Someday I will
have to go through the file. I'm sure I will soon have enough material to write my own book. I nearly put
my computer back into sleep mode, but I noticed that Internet connection was still active and I was